


same old loneliness

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy), Punk Pete Wentz, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Patrick had spent all of his life staring at the “Let me do it” on his wrist.In which soulmates have the first sentence that they’ll hear from the other tattooed to their wrists.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	1. i know this hurts

**Author's Note:**

> tw: (failed) suicide attempt
> 
> this is in no means meant to disrespect pete or anyone else dealing with depression— i deal with it, too. it’s comforting to write about it, if you get me.

“Dude, I gotta go now. Mom is making that good shit tonight.” 

Patrick always laughs at the way Joe words his sentences, tonight was no exception. Though, he had been pretty zoned out.

With no other words exchanged, Joe left not only the house— but Patrick alone with his thoughts. That wasn’t necessarily a good or a bad thing, more or so just time in silence filled with confusion. Not a day passed where he didn’t analyze the words on his wrist as if they were a line in poetry. 

His index finger gently trailed over a sloppily written sentence that he didn’t understand yet.

Every single person on Earth had a tattoo with the first words they’d hear their soulmate say. The conspiracy— or debatable belief —of soulmates had only been proven in the twentieth century. Not only did these tattoos prove that soulmates are real, but they proved that fate and destiny are real. 

Patrick had spent all of his life staring at the “Let me do it” on his wrist. Those words were Patrick’s destiny since the day he was born. His purpose. 

Throughout all of his school days, Patrick observed everyone else’s tattoos. It wasn’t that surprising that the most common sentences were ones of greeting, or appreciation for a stranger’s kindness. 

Based off the words on his arm, he assumed his soulmate was probably a jerk that wanted to do something against the law. Maybe he’d find himself trying to stop them and they’d insist on still doing it. Patrick felt it was unfortunate that he was stuck with a criminal, or at least an asshole, as a soulmate.

Sighing, Patrick stood up from the dusty couch he was sitting on, trailing over to the door. He thought for a minute before slipping his sneakers on, deciding it would be nice to get some fresh air. Of course he didn’t forget to bring cookies with him.

He calmly walked out of his apartment, watching the paintings on the hallway walls disappear in the corners of his eyes with each step.

The door to the rooftop had already been open. A soft breeze swooshed through the crack, the doorknob as cold as ice in Patrick’s hand. Echoes of him running up the stairs were loud in his ears. 

Finally, he was met with the smell of a rainy day. It’s that kind of scent that reminds you that you’re alone to watch your feet purposely step into puddles, alone to hum a sad song to yourself. Everything about hiding high in the sky was lonely.

It was pretty obvious he wasn’t going to be alone— considering the door wasn’t shut properly. Patrick normally never had company when he went up there, but that was the point. All he could do was hope the other person would keep it quiet between them.

When he looked up from his feet, he was met with the sight of a boy slightly older than him who was drenched in rain. His blue hoodie had darker blue spots all over it, and raindrops dripped from his hair. The strangest thing about him was the black running down his cheeks, which Patrick assumed to be the eyeliner around his eyes getting wet. 

The boy looked like a stereotypical emo, to put it simply. Then again, also pretty attractive. An emo douche, perhaps. One that walks on ledges of buildings and doesn’t care if he loses balance.

Patrick rolled his eyes as if he wasn’t going to watch him the whole time, observe until he’s seen right through him. Blame his curiosity on the fact that he’s never seen this man before, not the fact that he’s interested in him.

Can you even judge him for being curious? Walking on the ledge of a building that’s over 100 feet in the air like it’s a tightrope; it’s impossible not to be concerned about the boy’s safety. 

Though, he was quickly brought back to reality when he noticed the boy was no longer wobbly and pacing. Instead, he was facing the sun, all of the cars below them, and what seemed like a long fall into a void of traffic.

Had he seen Patrick sitting there for the past fifteen minutes, he probably wouldn’t have considered doing something so bold. But there he was, fists balled up to the point where his knuckles were red. It seemed like the rain practically pouring onto him was the least of his concern. 

Patrick subconsciously thought to himself about how he wished he could see the latter’s face, know what was on his mind and what exactly were his intentions. What emotionally stable person puts themself through danger to get rid of a numbness they’ve never even had? 

Just as the realization hit him that this man standing in front of him might need help, he witnessed him lean forward. Not a single thought was on Patrick’s mind as he bolted towards the stranger. 

His hand wrapped around a delicate wrist. To say he was using all of his strength was an understatement— he didn’t care if this guy was left with a bruise as long as nothing went wrong. 

As expected, the boy tried to pull his wrist out of Patrick’s grasp, his once vulnerable expression turning into something of pain and disgust. 

“Let me do it.” He growled out, his eyebrows furrowing deeply. 

Patrick would’ve been intimidated by the anger in his tone if it weren’t for the tears streaming down his face as he said it. 

Oh.

And the fact that he just spoke the words that have been on Patrick’s mind for the past 21 years. 

He refused to say anything back, knowing that if this man was truly his soulmate— he didn’t deserve to be even more overwhelmed by finding out he’s found his soulmate. Had it really been cold enough outside to make Patrick profusely shake, or had this situation been cold enough to do so?

Unfortunately, the shaking resulted in his grip loosening. The breath was knocked out of his lungs. Patrick was more than desperate at that moment, so he let his instincts take control.

That, of course, ended up with his arms wrapped around the wet, still very upset, boy from behind. As quick as you could expect a sweet, sappy moment, that wasn’t what was happening. 

He pulled the man down from the ledge with all of his remaining strength.

“Why didn’t you let me do it,” the words came out slurred in between sobs, hands weakly gripping the latter’s shirt, “Why?”

Patrick didn’t say anything.


	2. it was meant to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments motivate me so much :D

Warm tea. Nothing more like home.

The boy who was previously bawling his eyes out was seated on Patrick’s couch. 

Sure, it was slightly awkward considering Patrick still refused to say anything, but the bigger priority was making the atmosphere calm. Comfortability could come later.

“Pete.” He mumbled as he blew on the steamy fresh cup of tea. Was that his way of greeting? Whatever it was, he was surely nervous by the way he was playing with the strings on his hoodie. ‘Pete’ didn’t even make eye contact with Patrick since they were on the rooftop.

What a weird guy.

Instead, he stared at the tea as if it were the most interesting thing; either that, or he was just super zoned out. Patrick assumed it was the latter.

It was clear that Pete was having a bad day, so much that he started to give up on reality and just— life itself. At this point, his every movement had Patrick becoming more and more curious about him. Not with any sort of judgment, though. 

He was still living by that ‘no talking’ rule he made for himself on the rooftop. A scary thought crossed his mind. What if Pete could tell that they’re soulmates because the tattoo on his wrist would have something to do with what happened? What if he knew?

Fingers tracing the rim of the mug, Pete mumbled, “Did, y’know, all of that.. scare you? You haven’t said anything at all.” 

Patrick’s mouth registered that sentence before his brain did. Without thinking, he blurted out a response, desperate for Pete to stay in fear of his safety. 

“I-I’m sorry, just don’t leave.” 

Silence.

“What?”

To say Pete’s eyebrows were raised would be an understatement— they looked as if they could easily rise above his forehead. Slowly, they went back in place as subtle tears appeared in his eyes. Either that, or his once dry eyes from all that crying had simply come back to life.

As for Patrick, well, he sat frozen in his seat. All he could do was go back to observing Pete and hope that he wouldn’t leave and never come back. He watched as the boy insecurely dabbed at the dried black lines on his cheeks with his sleeve.

Silence was back between them and it was suffocating. The once warm cup of tea was placed on the coffee table, no longer steaming. Neither of them checked the time, but it was surely late at night judging by the silence in the hallways. 

Giving Pete some time to think wasn’t the wrong decision, right? Eventually he’d probably speak up and things would be less awkward. Though, what was he even supposed to think about? He’s not okay and now he has to process-

“Okay,”

Patrick tilted his head in confusion, prompting the latter to continue with his response.

“I’ll stay. Just don’t try to control how I live my life.”

Welp, that night the couch had been fully occupied by a grown man needing somewhere to be supervised. He hid under a hello kitty blanket Patrick found, which was kinda cute. 

Maybe he should’ve offered a change of clothing, but that might’ve been pushing too far. After all, he was told not to control Pete’s life. He’d only give something if he was asked for it.

Judging based off Pete’s attitude, he seen the type of person that guy is. Emotionally vulnerable but refuses to be dependent. There had to be more to him, though— his only personality trait and hobby couldn’t be sulking. 

Crawling into bed, Patrick decided he’d get to know him better. Not just the flaws and demons, but the personality hiding behind them at that moment. 

After that thought, he’d fallen asleep in preparation for another long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys are enjoying so far!!
> 
> if you have any suggestions for the plot, let me know <3


	3. your secret’s out

Tiny guy must fit on tiny couch. Haha, funny.

Pete was struggling to not fall off of it with each toss and turn throughout the night. The clock flashed a bright ‘3:46’ and unfortunately it meant ‘in the morning’ rather than a normal time.

With the blanket Patrick had given him wrapped around his body like a burrito, he struggled to even blink. It had only dawned on him that he signed up to sleep on a stranger’s couch once it was too late. The security alarm was already on and he didn’t know the passcode. He was trapped.

Seriously, what is with him and feeling constantly trapped in all different types of situations and emotions? Some random man had the audacity to stop him from doing something he had to do, he wouldn’t forget that. And yet, said man invited him to sleep there as if Pete stopped feeling terrible and could actually sleep.

The only reason why he stopped crying earlier was because of the exhaustion and confusion he felt. Just because he calmed down on the outside didn’t mean he wasn’t still fighting internal battles.

He knew what was wrong with what he attempted to do. He knew he shouldn’t get mad at someone taking time out of their day to reach out to him. But he was furious.

Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III did not sign up to be stuck in a furnished insane asylum. Well, he did technically agree to staying— but that’s besides the point. Being alone made all of the thoughts come back; he wanted out of this place, these feelings.

If it weren’t for that annoyingly awkward boy, escaping everything would’ve been so much easier.

Even though the apartment was silent, his head was not. The temptation completely enveloped him all over again, it was all starting up again and he couldn’t leave this apartment. He wanted to go back to the roof.

Temptation and exhaustion were both just as strong as the other to the point where Pete couldn’t remember why he was even like this. Why he wanted out of whatever unfairness his mind felt. What was so unfair?

The fact that anyone even stopped him should’ve been flattering, should’ve made him want that person to stick around. Truly, that was how he felt; his mind, on the other hand, only seen the boy who saved him as an obstacle. Someone interfering with the control he had over himself.

Sometimes it all felt very impulsive to Pete. He figured suicidal thoughts mustn’t be a constant thing in most people with depression, they must only come when the person is pushed into a dark place. Though he was right, his experience was different.

There were nights spent desperately wanting the thoughts to simply be rid of, then the next day he’d regret taking things too far. It was almost like a crash after drugs. He knew he’d feel that guilt in the morning— feel out of his mind.

How was he supposed to trust a nameless boy, anyways? How could he trust that everything would be okay if he let himself be taken care of? Everyone always said you should never deal with mental illness alone, and Pete especially wasn’t one to deny that.

It was the fear of abandonment.

All he had to do was fall asleep and go home in the morning, let nobody pay him any mind. There was no doubt that he needed to rest after such a long day, but his thoughts were still racing. This time he was worrying about the fact that he could possibly have to verbally communicate in the morning.

Eventually he was out like a light. Of course after having a small anxiety attack.

Patrick wasn’t sure how to react to the small lump on his couch (Pete curled up in a ball) in the morning.

Last night had been unproductive, he’d only gotten Pete’s name and the command not to ‘control’ him. He could be patient when learning about the guy on his couch, but he wasn’t patient at all. If he had any patience, they most likely wouldn’t get anywhere.

He could only hope that considering it was a new day, Pete was less shaken up and reserved. It wasn’t that Patrick wanted to host some sort of an interrogation about Pete’s personal life, he only wanted to learn basic information.

Though, that whim was turned down with, “I should get going now. I have stuff to do today.”

Patrick turned around from the fridge to look at a tired Pete, his voice alone giving it away. He sluggishly fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie, expecting Patrick to easily let him leave. Let him leave? Poor wording, he simply just wanted to say goodbye.

“Um, a-are you sure? You could get whatever done here, I-I don’t mind. Do you have a job or study? I’ll let you use my computer..” The blonde didn’t stop nervously rambling, albeit the silence last night.

There was no point in silence anymore.

Vulnerability most likely, absolutely, seeped through his words. As if he were actually desperate for Pete to stay, pffft.

“..Fine. Where is it?”

That certainly caught Patrick off guard. Only for a minute, though, before he beckoned for the other boy to follow him to the small office in his apartment.

Things between them were still awkward as ever, especially when Patrick had to wait for the computer to turn on and type in the password without any words spoken. Pete practically hovered over him and stared.

With a nervous clearing of the throat, Patrick sat down and read through music sheets he left sitting around. It was hard to tell if he was staying in the room because, God, Pete could easily look through his browsing history, or because he was curious about what he needed to use the computer for.

So, just like any normal human being would do, Patrick looked up occasionally as he pretended like the music sheets in his hands were important and worth analyzing.

When he looked up, he was able to make out that Pete was writing what seemed like a blog post or an article. Really squinting, he noticed that it was a story? The question mark being that it could’ve been poetry, that could’ve been a possibility, too.

_if breathing is an assigned chore_

_obstacles as rewards leave me not wanting to do it anymore_

_more obstacles as i try to leave my chores incomplete_

_laziness isn’t too complicated and neither is my defeat_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i suck at poetry omg pretend what pete wrote was very touching


End file.
